Guilt
by animegirl336
Summary: After the Cell Games, all of the Z Fighters except for Goku come back alive. And Gohan feels that he is responsible. HCT.


_Revised 9/4/15_

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Gohan sat in his room. He sat at his desk, just staring at the paper. He read it over and over again, revising it. Just looking at it made him want to cry. But he had to write it. He didn't belong here, and he needed to make sure that he told them why he was doing this.

It was the first thing he's done in a few weeks. Lately he hadn't been able to bring himself to do anything but go to the bathroom and eat. Even his eating had gotten sparse, which surprised even him, given his Saiyan heritage.

You know a Saiyan is depressed when they don't eat.

He looked out his window. The stars shone brightly and the full moon beamed down. It was as if the sky was blissfully unaware of the tragedy that happened only a mere month ago.

A month. Thirty days. Those thirty days had seemed like an eternity and only a few minutes at the same time. The days had dragged on, yet when he looked back, it seemed like it had just happened.

He wished it had never happened at all.

But that's all it was: wishing. Each moment that passed seemed pointless. Why should he study? He didn't deserve to learn. Why should he train? He didn't have anyone to impress. He just sat.

He heard a knock on his door. He couldn't fathom who it could be at this time of night. His mother should be fast asleep. Gohan continued to just sit there, not making an attempt to acknowledge the person at the door. The person knocked again, then a third time. Gohan sat silently.

"Gohan..." his mother's voice came. It was tired, as if she had just woken up. "are you still awake?" Gohan didn't give her a response, hoping she'd think he was asleep. He heard her feet walk down the hallway to her bedroom.

He let out a sigh. He wasn't tired at all. His guilt keeps him up at night. On the rare occasion that he did manage to get to sleep, he would have violent nightmares. He would dream of Cell. He had dreams where his father turned into Cell, similar to the one he had about Frieza, but these were more violent.

He would dream of his father killing Cell, then turning on Gohan. He would dream of killing his father and friends in cold blood. He would dream of his father blaming him. Because, after all, it was all Gohan's fault.

Such has been his life for the past month. Not that it mattered all that much. A murderer doesn't deserve anything Gohan has. A murderer, such as himself, doesn't even deserve to be on the planet with others.

He sat for hours, all through the night and early morning. He heard his mother awake around sunrise.

"Gohan, sweetie," he heard from the other side of his door around noon, "do you want to come shopping with me?" When she received no response, she walked away. As soon as he heard the car drive away, Gohan left his room. Now was the time to do it.

He silently walked down the hallway to the bathroom. He relieved himself then walked over to the sink. He grabbed a bottle from inside the mirror and began to open it.

His palms were sweaty, his hands were shaking something fierce, and he felt sick to his stomach as he carried out his plan. It proved to be difficult. The cap had barely been turned when he heard a knock on the bathroom door.

Gohan's heart skipped a beat. To his knowledge, no one was home. His mother was grocery shopping. He couldn't be caught. He gave no answer, though it was clear that he was in there. The silence excuse only worked in his bedroom. The person knocked again.

"Yes?" Gohan answered. His voice was raw from lack of use and sounded unfamiliar to his ears. It had been days since he had heard it.

"Can I come in, Gohan?" a familiar voice asked. Gohan panicked.

"I'm busy Mr. Piccolo." Gohan said. "Right now isn't a good time."

"You alright in there, kid?" Piccolo questioned.

"Uh, yeah." Gohan replied. "Perfectly fine." he quickly put the bottle on the counter. "You can come in now." The door opened and Piccolo walked in. "Hey Mr. Piccolo."

"You've barely left your room, kid."

Gohan gasped as if he still had emotions. "How'd you know that?"

"I've kept my eye on you this past week." Piccolo said. "I know it's been tough for you, because your father isn't here." For a few seconds, Gohan considered confiding in Piccolo, but decided against it. "I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Gohan rubbed the back of his neck. "I already told you, I'm fine." he feigned a smile. "That's the truth."

Piccolo crossed his arms. "Then why don't I believe you?"

Gohan shrugged. "I don't know."

"Gohan," Piccolo started, slowly, "you sure you're alright?"

Gohan hesitated in answering. Looking back, his hesitation saved his life. If he hadn't...well, he didn't wanna think about that. If he hadn't hesitated then Piccolo would have probably flown off, he had great trust in Gohan, but that wasn't the case. Gohan _had_ hesitated and Piccolo looked around the room. His eyes landed on the sink. He picked up a bottle. "What's this?"

Gohan gulped. "Tylenol."

Piccolo tossed the Tylenol bottle up and down in his hand. "Why do you have it?"

"My, uh, arm still hurts." Which was only a half-lie. His arm, even with a senzu and Dende's healing, still hurt. But that's not why he had the Tylenol out. Piccolo stared him down and Gohan couldn't take it. He couldn't stand lying point blank into the eyes of his old mentor. "Mr. Piccolo..."

"Roll up your sleeves." Piccolo demanded in a voice that said 'I'm not afraid to punch you if need be'.

Gohan gulped. He didn't want to show him. He wasn't ready for the look he was going to receive. But he knew better than to disobey the green man.

Gohan obediently rolled up his sleeves to reveal several slits up and down his arms. Some were scabbed over, and others were still bleeding. Gohan stared at them before looking at the ground. He couldn't look at Piccolo.

The tall Namekian frowned. "You've been cutting _and_ were about to kill yourself?"

"Mr. Piccolo, you don't understand..."

"Gohan, what would your mother say if I told her?" Piccolo asked sternly.

"She wouldn't care." he said. "It'd be a relief to her!"

"How could you even say such a thing, Gohan?" Piccolo said, astonished. "Your mother-"

"Hates me! I killed her husband!" Gohan admitted. Had Piccolo forgotten? "It's all my fault that he's gone!"

Piccolo grunted. "Is that what you believe?"

"There's nothing else to believe. It was _my_ selfishness and _my_ arrogance that got him killed. _I_ could have finished Cell off, but _I_ didn't."

Gohan's muscles relaxed, his anger subduing into sadness. "I don't deserve to still be alive; to have lived through the Games."

"How long has it been since the tournament?"

Gohan was caught off guard by the question. "A month."

"How many times has your mother told you that she hates you, or even hinted towards it?"

"Zero." Gohan sat down on the side of the bathtub. "I...I just figured that because I killed her husband..."

"Exactly! You 'figured'." Piccolo chastised. "What about your father? What would he say when he saw you in Otherworld?"

Gohan clenched his fists, anger at himself rising again. "I wouldn't be going to Otherworld, for starters. I killed Son Goku!" he stood up and kicked a stool. He slammed his fists down on his own legs, causing major bruises. "And he wouldn't care. He probably hates me. I'm responsible for his death."

"There's that word. 'Probably'."

"Why else would he have refused to come back?" Gohan exclaimed, slamming his fists down again. He yearned for his razor. "He doesn't want to see me."

Piccolo sat Gohan back down on the edge of the bathtub. "Gohan, I can assure you that is not why your father decided to stay dead."

"Then why did he!"

"That is for you to figure out!" Piccolo said sharply. "But he does NOT hate you!"

"Whatever."

"What about the other Z Fighters? Krillin, Yamcha, Bulma, and everyone else!" Piccolo asked.

"I...I..."

"They'd grieve like hell!" Piccolo yelled loudly. For the first time in years, Gohan felt scared of Piccolo. "They'd feel responsible! Like it was their fault! They'd blame your suicide on themselves!"

"It has nothing to do with them!" Gohan exclaimed. "I mean...mostly..."

"Think about your little brother!" Piccolo continued. "He'd grow up without a father _and_ without a brother! Would you want to be responsible for that? And what about when he finds out _how_ his big brother died? How would _that_ influence him?"

"M-my... _little brother?_ " Gohan's black eyes opened wide. "You mean...Mom is..." Piccolo nodded slowly. Gohan smiled, really smiled, for the first time since before the Cell Games.

"And what about me, kid?" Piccolo asked, no longer yelling. "What would I think?"

"Mr. Piccolo-"

Piccolo crushed the bottle and pills in his hand. Plastic pieces and pill dust fell to the ground. "Suicide is a stupid idea!" Piccolo screamed at him. "A stupid fucking idea!"

"I understand that now." Gohan said. He was shaking, but for a different reason this time. He silently wished that he could let go, show weakness. Piccolo nodded.

"Go ahead."

Gohan couldn't believe his ears. His strictest teacher was giving him permission to show weakness. Gohan, of course, took advantage of the rare occasion and let the dam burst, running op and hugging Piccolo. Piccolo's gi slowly got dampened by Gohan's tears. "I hate it Piccolo...all of it! The studying, the fighting, the training, the fighting and the training! Damn...damn it all!"

"I know."

"I promise, Mr. Piccolo...I promise that I will always be strong for my mother and my little brother. Always."

"Gohan!" Chi-Chi called. He heard the door shut. Gohan quickly rolled his sleeves down. "I'm home." He heard his bedroom door open and shut. He heard a gasp. Chi-Chi frantically searched the house and found Gohan in the bathroom. "You left your room."

"Mommy!" Gohan ran over and wrapped his arms around his mother. For a moment, he forgot he was eleven. For a moment, he forgot everything people wanted him to be. He wasn't the strongest person on the planet. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't a scholar. In that moment he felt like that innocent little boy that got kidnapped a lot.

Chi-Chi was startled at first, surprised that he had left his room _and_ had spoken, but accepted the embrace. Then she noticed Piccolo. And the plastic pieces. And the dust. "What happened while I was at the store?"

Gohan looked pleadingly at Piccolo. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He said. He climbed out the bathroom window.

"Here, sweetie." Chi-Chi said. Gohan let go of her and looked at what she had handed him. It was a purple leather journal.

"A journal?" Gohan asked, wiping his face.

Chi-Chi nodded."Yup. It's for you to write in. About anything." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I thought it might help."

"Thanks Mom!" Gohan said. He gave her a hug and ran into the kitchen. "Now, I think it's time for a meal fit for a half-breed."

"Right."

"Oh, and we need more Tylenol."

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 **A/N: Yeah, that's right, Gohan angst fic. I really enjoy reading it, so I decided to try another one, since my last one was The Worst Christmas, which I need to go back and revise. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought! Thanks!**

 **~animegirl336**


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